False Hope in Sheep's Clothing
by OnlyTheInevitable
Summary: What was really going through Scully's mind during her moment with Eddie Van Bluhnt?


**_s4 / small potatoes / angst _**

**_requested on tumblr by bright-eyed-enigma_**

**_Hahaha so #1, so sorry I was #ThatBitch and brought angst into it and #2 I'm sure this is probably heavily subconciously influenced by all the Small Potates fics I've read, but I still hope it's a little different._**

Last night, alone in a second-rate motel room, she tended to a nosebleed so bad that she was afraid she might pass out if it lasted any longer. By the time it'd ended, she had several blood-soaked napkins littered around her, and a shirt with blood on it that told her the effort to save it had been fruitless.

With a sigh of resignation, she'd gone into the bathroom and stripped off her shirt, but before she had a chance to grab her spare, her breath caught in her throat.

_Who was that?_

She usually changed in her bathroom at home, leisure time was a luxury, so it was usually done in haste. The mirror there was above the sink, and relatively small. This one, however, showed her everything she'd been avoiding.

When her hands slid over her body in the morning, she felt it, she knew. She used to pride herself on her lean muscles, but now she felt like a skeleton with skin. Her ribs protruded grotesquely, her hip bones felt like knives, even her breasts seemed to be shrinking. She didn't feel like Dana Scully anymore.

She felt like a personified death rattle. Looking into her face was no better. Her eyes looked tired and there was dried blood all over her nose.

Deciding she couldn't face herself anymore, she quickly splashed water on her face, the red running clockwise down the sink reminding her of the time she had left slipping away from her. She had to brush her teeth twice to get the taste of iron out of her mouth from the rivulets that'd caught on her lip. Part of her hesitated though because it was one of the first times she remembered tasting something that the meds didn't dull.

Then, with a sigh, she pulled her spare shirt over head and ignored the way it sexlessly draped over her, nothing to cling to, nothing to emphasize. She turned the light off, crawled into bed and listened to the lively sounds of Mulder on the other side of the wall. Undoubtedly he was still working. Every part of her wanted to go and ask him if he needed help. Maybe they would order a pizza while she laughed as he tried to find something to watch. Maybe he'd smile at her in that way he did when she hung out in his room that made her feel like a teen who'd snuck out of her parent's house - doing something she knew she shouldn't, but loving it too much to leave. Maybe he'd even flirt, he'd been doing that more often.

No.

He _had_ been doing that more often.

Now she knew if she went to his room, she'd just get the same thing she always did nowadays. Those fucking sad eyes when he saw her that he tried to compensate for with the world's weakest smile. "_How are you?"_ he'd say gently, stopping everything he was doing to accommodate her. He'd look sad when she said _"fine"_ but not early as sad as she'd know he'd look if she said_ "Sometimes the pain medicine doesn't work and it makes me want to crawl out of my body. All I want is for you to make me feel better, but there's nothing you can do and you'd kill yourself trying and there's no use in both of us dying. I've had to throw away three pillowcases because I wake up and they are covered in blood. My hair's thinning. My mom cried last time I saw her. I didn't even say anything, she just saw me. "_

He didn't look at her like a woman; he looked at her like a half-written epigraph.

So, instead of going to him, she'd laid in bed and cried herself to sleep.

That was yesterday. Tonight, _he'd_ come to _her._

Tonight she felt like a woman.

* * *

His self-conscious approach initially had her worried, but it quickly turned to endearing. He came over just to see her, just to spend time with her, just because he wanted to talk.

She'd been hesitant when he mentioned that they never talked. She feared it was _"You never tell me how you're doing living with cancer" _in disguise. But it wasn't. It almost felt like he was pretending the cancer didn't even exist, and it was a dream come true. It was like the past few months hadn't happened. It was just good ol' Mulder and her talking. And he'd brought wine - what a plus.

Now she was tipsy and felt oddly exposed, yet not unpleasantly. She'd always thought of how nice it would be to reveal some of herself with Mulder. She knew so much about him - what drove him on his mission, what upset him, even little memories he'd occasionally share with her offhandedly. Maybe it was her mortality nagging at her every move, but she sometimes regretted spending so much time being so prudent on maintaining their professionalism. Mulder was her friend, her best friend, and_ in her dreams so much more_. She wanted him to know little things she loved in her childhood, stupid things she did with her highschool sweetheart, what she dreamed of at night.

Apparently he wanted too as well. He was being so attentive, hanging off her every word, and he was staring at her face like it was the first time he'd ever been this close to her. She wasn't lying when she said she liked it.

He'd been acting pleasantly differently, but then "-you ever wish that you could go back and do it all differently?" Suddenly she couldn't connect the dots of his logic through her tipsy haze. He dismissed the career comment as if it was a footnote, as if it wasn't the very foundation of their relationship. She couldn't make sense of a Mulder who disregarded the X-Files.

He brow furrowed in confusion and she asked, "Do you?"

He didn't answer. He just stared at her, and she had no idea what he was thinking. She always knew how he was feeling.

He started moving towards her and she felt her heart starting to pound out of her chest. _Did he mean he wished he could have done everything in their relationship differently? But-what could be changed? Every single moment led them to who they are, every moment led to the intensity of the bond they had - regardless of how tense it'd been lately. She was thinking a mile a minute as he started slowly moving towards her, that strange look in his eye. She could just turn her head, if she turned her head he would know right now, but his hand was already pressing in between her legs for stability._ He was just going to go with it and she didn't even know how to respond other than to put her own hand in between her leg, instinctively acting as a barrier.

When he was close enough that she could feel his breath hit her lips, she realized she didn't smell much wine coming off him , and she realized he'd been filling up her glass all evening. His own glass was behind them with wine from his first fill still untouched._ Why did he want her to get drunk?_

She could feel her heart beating in her ears as he leaned in further. _Something wasn't right._ That was her last thought before she heard the loud splintering of wood. Turning her head over, she saw Mulder standing in the middle of her busted door frame.

Mulder? _Oh my god._

She turned back in shock and Eddie Van Mulder had the audacity to smile at her. She raised her hands and pushed him away in disgust, practically jumping from the couch.

She saw her Mulder look like a million thoughts were running through his head. Shock, anger, hurt, confusion, betrayal, they all painted him like a portrait of a man mourning the loss of something that could have been and he hadn't even known it. She probably looked the same.

Eddie morphed back on the couch and shrugged. _Fucking shrugged._ As if he hadn't tried to violate her. As if he hadn't just messed up their already fucked up relationship. With a terse voice, she heard Mulder start, "Eddie Van Bluhnt, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will-" he droned on as she mentally retreated. She watched the same mouth that had smiled at her joke earlier, purse when he looked in her direction - the same eyes that had affectionately wandering her face now looking at her with the words _"you couldn't fucking tell"_ screaming at her.

How ironic, the cancer probably wasn't even on his mind and yet he was still looking at her with pity. She felt her throat closing up as the realization that none of tonight even mattered. It wasn't him. Mulder had pulled out his phone and was calling for the police to come pick him up as she all but ran over to the bathroom to have a moment to herself.

By the time she came out, she'd prevented a breakdown, for now at least, and Mulder was talking to an officer who was currently bagging the wine glasses. He looked up and pointed at her, "She the vic?"

"Nothing happend," she snapped before the "yes" that had formed on Mulder's lips had a chance to be verbalized.

"Scully," he started with a sigh.

"If my statement is needed for anything I'd prefer to give it tomorrow. I'm tired," she sighed.

"Alright, we just need to take a few pictures and then we'll be out of your hair miss," the officer nodded.

"Scully, can I talk to you in the other room?" he asked, already making his way over to her and putting his hand on her side. Already making the decision for her.

He lead her into her bedroom, much like Eddie Van Bluhnt had hoped to do, and closed the door behind him. "Are you okay?" he asked.

His trademark.

She felt the question like a stab in the heart even though she knew it was warranted and in a different context. "I'm fine. He didn't do anything," she bit. She was being mean to him and he was just worried. She was just sick of him _always_ being worried.

"Are you sure?"

"He brought over wine and we drank it. Big deal," she said, knowing she was avoiding the elephant in the room.

"Did he touch you?" Mulder asked, his voice softening only fueling to her aggravation.

"No, Mulder. Were you even listening to me?" she snapped.

"I just wasn't sure. His hand seemed pretty friendly from where I was, and you didn't seem to be too upset about it," he snapped back. They were both upset about what just happened, but instead of it bringing them together, they were fighting. _Of course._

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd take a rapist trying to make me his next victim and somehow manage to make it my fault." She didn't want to be fighting anymore. She was tired and she was starting to feel pain in her muscles.

"I didn't," he sighed, rubbing his hand across his face. "I just feared the worst when I realized he'd gone with you."

"Yeah. Apparently you were so certain he'd come over and try to seduce me like the other women that you felt the need to bust through my door without even knocking."

He looked embarrassed at that, but before he could defend himself, she was already adding fuel to the fire. "What? You were so certain that I'd fall for the charms of some low-life creep masquerading as you that you came here immediately. Let me guess, you were urgent to get in here because you thought you'd find me getting fuc-"

"No!" he interrupted, looking flustered at his instinctive actions being called out as well as the crudeness of her words.

"Then why didn't you knock?" she almost whispered, her tone sharp as a knife.

"Why were you about to kiss him?" he cut back.

"I froze, Mulder. He was being pushy and flagrantly ignoring my discomfort at the end, and I couldn't understand why you would do that and I was confused. That's when you barged in. Is it even possible for you to try to put yourself into my shoes for even a second? To imagine how confused I was when you were acting so weird." He looked like he was about to answer, but she wasn't done.

"Do you think I couldn't tell, seriously? Do you think he just came in here and I didn't think anything different? You can even ask him, I mentioned he was acting different several times, Mulder," she explained, she stumbled a little bit from the wine in her system, and she saw him resist the urge to reach out and steady her. "_You shouldn't have been drinking on your meds"_ evident in his gaze. Heaven forbid she make a decision for herself.

"So you thought I was acting different, and yet you spent how long with him?" he asked defensively.

"I didn't say it was a bad different," she replied.

He looked like she'd slapped him.

The thick tension only lasted for a minute before there was a knock at the door. They turned and it was the officer standing with a camera and a few other baggies. "We're done here, Agent Mulder."

"Thank you, Officer. Where are you taking him?" Mulder asked, his voice sounding exhausted.

"I'll have to confirm that with my partner," he answered. He looked like he was about to say more when he focused on Scully and his brow furrowed. "Ma'am, you have a nosebleed."

She raised her hand to her face and when she pulled back, her index and middle finger were saturated with blood. When she looked up she saw Mulder was looking at her with so much pity she could drown herself in it. "Scully-" he started softly, going towards her.

"I'm fine," she snapped, raising one hand to cover the bleed from his gaze and raising the other to prevent him from coming any further. "Thank you for your help officer, but I'd like to be left alone."

"Of course," he nodded, leaving.

She turned to Mulder and said, "Close the door on the way out, I'll lock the deadbolt later. You didn't break that off at least."

He looked like he was about to argue, but she didn't want to hear it. She just turned and walked into the bathroom and closed the door. She saw herself in the mirror and her face crumpled in silent agony.

_If her nose had started bleeding an half an hour ago, she'd have let Mulder help her. He probably would have grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her face and she might have let him. She might have even told her about how she was feeling lately and he would have listened to every word. _That was the last thing she thought as she listened to Mulder sigh, clearly upset, as he left her apartment.


End file.
